Trampling in the Land of Woe
WILLIAM LJ GALAINI
TRAMPLING IN THE LAND OF WOE
Copyright © 2015 by William Galaini
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles of reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used within a fictitious framework.
For more information, contact:
William Galaini
14652 Endsley Turn
Woodbridge VA 22193
[email protected]
Interior design by Mariana Vidakovics De Victor
Map and pagebreaks by Bruce Brenneise
Cover design by Daniel Hooker
Cover art by Aleksandr Dochkin
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Other books by William Galaini
Chapter 1
Despite having a tall, iron-riveted hull, The Bonny Sweetheart teetered from side-to-side. An imposing ship, she stood thirty-feet high from wave crest to main deck, with two paddlewheels grinding away at her sides. The bow lurched upward and forward in the black sea of the damned as her smokestacks spewed into the starless sky above.
She was a ship of the ages, a magnificent ship-of-the-line with a pointed bow and elegant bulging sides, but as technology trickled down from the living world into the afterlife, she evolved and mutated into a steam-powered hulk with an armored hide, deck guns, and a red-iron ram at the front. Each of The Bonny Sweetheart’s owners had made their own modifications, and her spacious cargo holds now carried Hell’s fire, her burning belly powering her steam engines for eternity.
Waves of floundering bodies, naked and desperate, clawed at the ship’s unyielding hide as she crushed through their groaning and gargling masses. Some clung to the wiring of the protective cage that housed the massive paddle wheels, but if any of the destitute wretches climbed too high from the water, they were promptly gunned down by the vigilant crew.
Hephaestion gripped the railing, his knuckles white as he scanned the mewling sea of bodies for the right one. He needed a tall one of massive girth for his plan to work: approximately twenty stone in weight, and perhaps seventeen hands in height. Man or woman would do, and other factors, such as skin tone and hair, meant nothing.
Three months at sea and his search had yet to yield anything but impatience and distaste among The Bonny Sweetheart’s crew. Whenever Hephaestion neared one of the sailors, he took care to stand straight and make eye contact, punctuating his passing with a firm nod.
The deck was consistently alive with sailors in sleeveless leather tunics, clumped in teams, dangling long metal poles over the sides of the ship as they poked at the surges of wailing and waterlogged humans. The ship’s occupants were focused and dedicated, but their sidelong glances told Hephaestion that they’d rather be enjoying their afterlives than searching the waters that lapped Hell’s shore.
The deck’s planking creaked behind him. “I know, I know…” Hephaestion sighed. “We’re here longer than I promised.”
Ulfric guffawed. “You don’t have to placate me.” Even on a ship atop a turbulent sea of wailing damned, Ulfric still managed to be cheery. The man’s disposition shown as brightly as his glowing blond hair and braided blond beard. Leaning against the railing next to Hephaestion, the Viking’s presence provided comfort.
“I don’t thank you nearly enough,” Hephaestion confessed.
“Not nearly.”
“How is the crew holding up?”
“A few of them have been lost in this very ocean, and they remember vividly their long swim to shore with only Hell to look forward to. Their knowledge has been helpful, and they’ve muscled through the memory of being here just to help.”
“I didn’t know that. I’d never expect someone to come back here, but like I said—”
“They insisted. They knew the waters, and they knew what to expect.” Ulfric made a sweeping gesture with his hand, and in the distance, silent lightning strikes lit up the horizon, revealing tormented humanity as far as the eye could see. “Some stay out here, you know. Some try to avoid the current pulling them in because they suspect greater punishment awaits.”
Hephaestion searched for a retort, but Alex’s face came to his mind instead.
“I won’t find peace until I find him,” he said to his large friend.
“Don’t I know it.” Ulfric straightened up to leave. “The crew will do their part, regardless of their feelings on the matter. You asked me for this, so I asked them. You’ll have it.”
“I’m sorry.” Hephaestion turned away from the rolling waves, steadying himself against the railing.
With his usual disarming grin, Ulfric looked back. “The hell you are! You wouldn’t be doing this if you were sorry. You’re just obsessed.”
Hephaestion couldn’t help but smirk. That insuppressible grin of Ulfric’s could melt all negativity. Ulfric had given him the very same smile when they first met. Nearly a thousand years ago, Hephaestion had been clinging to jutting rocks as the raging currents of Purgatory pummeled him, and up above him flickered Ulfric’s blond hair dancing about like a lighthouse’s flaming beacon. The huge man was all grin and open hands, and plucked Hephaestion from the battering waters.
Gratitude. Gratitude was the first word that always came to mind when he thought of Ulfric. Unyielding and unrelenting kindness was what the man provided. But Ulfric was right. A lot had been asked of the crew, and a lot had been asked of Ulfric himself. It didn’t matter, though. What Hephaestion intended to commit to was perhaps one of the greatest endeavors imaginable.
He was going to get beyond Minos.
He was going to descend into the pit.
He was going to rescue Alexander the Great from Hell.
Chapter 2
If days could be judged on a sunless sea of wailing dead, then surely many had passed. Within the guts of The Bonny Sweetheart there were several hourglasses used to keep time, as well as a giant mechanical clock powered by the ship’s growling hellfire furnace, but Hephaestion rarely descended below deck. He obsessively scanned the swells of bodies for his quarry, unwilling to leave the search purely in the hands of Ulfric’s crew.
Time meant little to most in the afterlife, but it meant nothing to Hephaest
ion. He’d spent centuries on the rolling hills of the infinite mountain Purgatory on the other side of the underworld, serving Ulfric and aiding others. All those centuries marched on at the same, unperceivable rate, and all the while Hephaestion pined for his heart’s core.
He permitted himself a moment of mental rest, and his eyes drifted closed against the wailing cacophony and distant flashes of lightning. With a sigh, he thought of Alexander. Despite the hundreds of years, Hephaestion could easily remember his youth.
In the stables attached to his father’s palace, Alex flopped in the hay, laughing as he often did. Hephaestion stood taller than his king-to-be, even then, but Alex was always the rambunctious one. When they were boys, still under Aristotle’s tutelage, they would spar every afternoon with training swords and wooden shields. Before each round they would bang their weapons together three times to indicate that they were ready to fight, restraining their laughter while they stared at each other. Training, roughhousing, and daring horse-jumps filled their summer that year, and, between lessons from their tutors, they would run and hide in the stables.
Alex would pick fights. He’d jab at Hephaestion, more a sharp slap than a punch, until Hephaestion’s temper would get the better of him. Alex could always manipulate his friend’s feverish fury.
“Come on, lanky!” Alex would taunt between smacks. “Girls like me better. Don’t matter how pretty you are.”
“Hard not to like the heir better than the sidekick!” Hephaestion snapped back, his guard up as he bobbed and dodged his friend’s annoyances.
“I might leave a girl for you, when we’re older.” Alex grinned. “Let you have kids. Bet they’ll be pretty, too.”
“Stop calling me pretty!”
“I’m sure some famous horse lords were pretty,” Alex said while delivering an echoing, open-palmed smack across Hephaestion’s face.
Hephaestion, teeth clenched, flattened Alex with a knuckle-first jab, and he heard Alex’s nose pop as his dirty blond head snapped back. Staggering on his heels for a moment, Alex slumped backward into some hay and stared at the wooden beams above.
“You broke my nose….” he marveled, half stunned.
Hephaestion covered his mouth in shocked shame. The prince, son of King Philip, had blood pouring down from his nose onto his lips as his green eyes gazed into the heavens beyond the roof of the stables. Hephaestion was certain that he would never see the age of sixteen now.
“You broke my nose!” Alex screeched with delight. “That’s perfect! Now I’ll look like a soldier!”
“What?”
“Yeah! And even with a crooked nose, I’ll still get more girls than you!”
Hephaestion pounced on him, pinning Alex’s shoulders with his knees, and proceeded to set his prince’s nose back into place.
“Stop!” Alex protested while flailing. “Quit it—I want it!”
“You’re being a jackass,” Hephaestion snarled. “I won’t get the rod because you’re a jackass. Let me at least…OW!” Hephaestion leapt back as Alex nipped at his fingers like an ornery horse.
Alex grinned through red teeth. “I get a broken nose, and you get a finger missing. We’ll both be warriors.”
The boys collided and tumbled as they gnawed and kicked and bit in the dust, the horses antsy from the commotion. Hephaestion knew he would lose, but he honestly didn’t mind. Alex always wanted the fight, wanted the victory more. And nothing pleased Alex more than winning.
But as Alex’s teeth came down on Hephaestion’s ring finger, he instead nibbled, and his lips soon pursed and suckled on the end of Hephaestion’s finger.
A jolt shot down his spine, paralyzing Hephaestion. With a gasp, he watched Alexander worship his entire hand with an eager mouth. Soon the two boys collapsed onto each other, interested in far more than just fingers and noses, and the horses calmed.
Returning from the memory, Hephaestion smiled. He would have his Alexander again. Alexander was his Earth, and Hephaestion’s thoughts orbited him like the moon. He would hold Alexander again, and his eternity of being incomplete would be over.
“Ho!” cried one of the crew, her raspy voice piercing the din. Her fellow crewmates tossed their heads back and echoed the call. Ulfric returned to the deck within an instant, eyes keen.
“Hepher,” he hollered over the other voices. “Someone speared a whale for you!”
Hephaestion arrived at the port stern in time to see an enormous, pale man flop onto the deck. His eyes were red from duress, and his hair had been torn from his head in clumps, likely by the fellow damned drifting with him. The wheezing and frothing from his mouth and nose were a product of his endless gasping, his sudden exposure to solid ground, and the agony of having a barbed spear haul him in.
Tall, but thick-limbed, the man was so large that his fat moved almost like a separate entity from his skeleton. His body blobbed on the ship’s deck, rolling about with each swell, only given shape by his pallid skin. The spear lodged in his midsection was a jagged and clumsy looking weapon; yellow fat and dark blood pooled in its quarry’s folds. Hephaestion did the man a small mercy and drove a dagger deep into the back of his skull.
The man was perfect. Hephaestion needed a human being large enough that he could fit inside, which was a rarity among humanity.
“We’ve got about two days before he revives. If he heals up faster than that, just be at the ready with a knife,” he said as the surrounding crew nodded.
Ulfric clapped his coarse hands twice, and the crew responded by binding their new passenger with thick hauling rope. Several men grunted as they dragged him into the deck’s upper cabin.
A tinge of remorse hit Hephaestion, driving his shoulders and brows low. An unconscious gesture, but nothing slipped past Ulfric.
“See?” Ulfric accused him when the others were out of earshot. “You feel like shit for that. I know you know this is an idiotic idea.”
“I was quick!” Hephaestion protested. “He won’t suffer unduly by my hands. We’ll gut him, I’ll get myself and my kit inside him, and, when he heals up, he’ll be right back in the water.”
“For you to then wait how many decades for him to wash in?”
“You know the docks aren’t an option with my face. Someone will spot me before I even get off a boat. Dammit, stop trying to talk me out of this at the last minute.” While Ulfric had been amazingly supportive in this rescue operation, he had challenged each of Hephaestion’s decisions long after they had been made. For centuries, Ulfric had quietly, and sometimes loudly, urged Hephaestion to stow his longing for Alexander and simply focus on himself. A man like Hephaestion should not be stuck in Purgatory for so many centuries. When it became clear that Hephaestion would not be moving on without Alexander, Ulfric agreed to help with the rescue.
“He needs me, Ulf. And you know I need this. A part of me is down there…and this is the only way I can think of to do this. I’m done waiting. I’m done feeling broken.”
Ulfric nodded, and then hugged Hephaestion tightly. “All right. Maybe I’m just being selfish.” Ulfric clapped his weathered hands on Hephaestion’s shoulders. “Maybe I don’t want you to go. And maybe you’ve got a totally different path than I had hoped for you. But this Trojan horse of yours is a man, a man in there waiting to be gutted by—”
“A glutton, Ulf. The man is a glutton aimed for Hell, and I’m going to piggy-back on him to get down there. Just like I’ve got my own path, he’s got his.” Hephaestion gently pulled away. “And you’ve got yours.”
“Don’t define people by their sins, Hepher.”
“He put himself here. I’m going to use his horrible choices in life to rescue Alex. Yes, it’s cruel how I’m going to do it. I know. I do feel bad, all right? I do. But that man is a glutton, and he earned a place down there.”
“Like Alexander earned his?”
Hephaestion evaluated
Ulfric with a cool gaze. Without a word, he turned on his heels and set about his savage task of disemboweling a man.
Chapter 3
“Keep him bound up tight at each limb. And pull the arms and legs downward. It’ll stretch the torso a bit more,” Hephaestion commanded his two assistants. The oil lamps above swung from side-to-side with the ship as he gave his gutting blade a last drag on the sharpening stone. The grated floor drained out blood and viscera, and Hephaestion hung up his tunic next to the other two already there. As messy as things would get, Hephaestion thought it ideal that he and his assistants be naked for their work.
Pausing for a moment, Hephaestion regarded the dead man’s blank gaze, his pupils unaffected by the light dancing in the room. Most people, depending on the severity of the wound, remained dead only for a few days in the afterlife. For some, it is a brief rest in oblivion—a reprieve from suffering or sorrow. Often referred to as “afterdeath,” Hephaestion had experienced the process several times and always by accident, either while training or rock climbing on the cliffs in Purgatory. Afterdeath was often preferable to dismemberment or severe bone breaks because at least in afterdeath, you were spared the pain of the injury and, worse still, the pain of healing.
Hephaestion had sold Ulfric on the idea of using a gluttonous hellbound soul to sneak into Hell. Ulfric argued against the idea.
“We aren’t demons or torturers, Hepher. You’re asking something nasty.”
But Hephaestion made the case that the initial pain would be minimal. After many decades, Hephaestion wore Ulfric down.
Reminding himself that the person before him was just meat, Hephaestion cut into the glutton’s right side near the lowest rib. Drawing a deep, bloody smile all the way across the lower belly, he sawed through skin, fat, and tissue until he struck muscle. His assistants pulled the opening wide with hooks, and each man soon stood on top of the quivering body, their bare feet slick. Suddenly, the whole ship lurched. One man fell off, the other dug his knee under the chin of the body, and Hephaestion drove his left calf deep into the man’s guts.
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